I smell the loose warm air of spring
and fall into my fever… lackadaisical,
nappy, desiring nothing so much as
the closing of eyes and ease.
She, on the other hand, rises to new
heights of enthusiasm. Things to be
done, projects to be joined after the long
I cite my New Englandishness in defense of
my version; fever not of leaping about, but of my
introvert’s resolving down into the innerness of
recharging. She, the extro, scoffs and assures
me that it is the leap out into action which renews.
Each could work, I guess. But not right now.
Right now …[ yawn]… I need a moment to
sink down, and close these peepers. Wake me
when the summer comes.